


GEI: Green Energy Initiative

by fallenprotector



Category: Original Work
Genre: Doctor - Freeform, Grinding, Metal Tentacles, Milking, Nipple Play, Oral, Oral Fixation, Other, Penetration, Readerfic, Sex Machine, Tentacles, Vibrator, Vibrators, fuck machine, nipple sucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:20:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23194624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallenprotector/pseuds/fallenprotector
Summary: It is 2037. Humanity has made continuously poor decisions, leading to a lack of electricity to power social infrastructure. In recent years, a scientist has discovered that if all else fails, there is one source of renewable, green energy we can always rely on: horny.But this isn't about that scientist, or this weird sex fantasy dystopia. It's about you, and how badly you wish you could afford a fuckie wuckie machine to ease your woes. So come and get it, you lonely clowns.
Relationships: Doctor/Patient - Relationship, fuck machine/reader, machine/reader, sex machine/reader
Comments: 12
Kudos: 238





	GEI: Green Energy Initiative

**Author's Note:**

> long time no post - happy quarantine, everybody.
> 
> when you're indoors for too long, there is plenty of time to beatus thine meatus. so here, have something to tide you over? 
> 
> if there's enough interest in this kind of immersive fuckie fantasy shindig, maybe i'll make more? let me know if you like it.
> 
> stay inside, take care of your loved ones, start organizing neighborhood mutual aid networks, and wash your hands (before and after reading this).
> 
> for more about me and my work, check out my bio here: https://ko-fi.com/fallenprotector

"Lucky you, huh?"

A warm voice like honey, cinnamon, and black coffee hums somewhere nearby on your left. It's hard to move much and see - they've set you down and strapped you in, some kind of loose band around your neck, and four cushy leather cuffs around your wrists and ankles. Sort of like those blood pressure readers at the doctor's office, before they squeeze you til you're sure you're gonna pop. 

"Alright, so," the voice again. There's a light slap on the roof of the machine you're hooked up to. "You know all of this already, but it's procedure, so I have to give you the whole spiel." Paper flips. "You have been invited to be a participant in the Green Energy Initiative's March 2037 Battery Drive. You accepted your invitation on February 14th of the same year, yada yada... if you would like to rescind your consent to participate in the program, please say so now."

You sigh and give an affirmative yes. As if filling out that mile-long application wasn't enough of an indicator. But hey, at least they're asking to confirm.

"Alright, great. Lemme get you set up," they say, their voice winding around the side of the machine. After a few quiet flicks of metal and plastic, a cheery jingle plays.

"Have fun!"

The machine wastes no time as it starts up, squeezing your wrists and your ankles to hold you in place. Beneath you, a leathery body mould rises up and clamps onto your entire chest and torso with a satisfying pressure. Your back, too, is met by a pleasant mould of the same material; that one, though, is kind enough to offer a massage. Beats the cheap dollar-for-twenty-minutes chairs at the mall any day.

A whirring begins as the device presses something warm, velvety, wet against both of your nipples. They must be some kind of tiny rings, squeezing and releasing the budding erogenous zones, gradually faster, more vigorous, you can't help but let loose a mangled gasp-

"Ohh, that does look fun," the doctor gives a low whistle, watching your back arch and tremble. You must be making the lid on this thing shake. "Maybe I'll give it a go after hours." 

By now it's impossible to hold back your ragged breaths. The rings, these synthetic lips with twice the fervor of any human mouth but just as much wet heat, they're sucking and sucking you into a deep stupor. Listening closely, you can hear the slippery pop with each release, the suction right before they clamp down again, and sometimes an exaggerated slurp you know it doesn't have to make audible, but most certainly wants you to hear.

Through the walls you hear another patient wailing, crying out in either pain or pleasure - you can't tell which. About half a second later, another, from the opposite wall, they start moaning and form a dizzying harmony. The doctor chuckles, taking a casual swig of their water bottle. As you hear them gulp and swallow, you swear the polymer lips at your chest clasp firmer, sucking harder and harder. 

It becomes clear what those two pipes are for in seconds.

"Ahh!" Just as the rubbery translucent pipes start drinking your milk, the patient next door on your right starts practically screaming. "Oh, oh, p-please, doctor! Doctor!" Another slew of desperate moans, voice cracking. "Make it, make it harder! Turn it up, tell it, ahh! Just get it to su- ohh! S- ahh, god, suck harder, please!"

There's a pause in their begging where you can fully hear the pumping and wet suckling of the machine against you. All you can do is lay still as it kisses and drains your heaving chest. The pipes below swell as they gorge themselves, starving and thirsting for every drop you have to give.

Next door, you hear a louder, faster whine of gears turning, followed by that same aching voice. 

_"AHH!"_

"Whew," the doctor plops down in their rotating desk chair. You can just barely make out the squeak of its wheels over the machinations of rubbing, vibrating, sucking up and down your body. "Dunno about that guy, but you'll probably be in here longer. You're pretty sensitive to the topical gel on those rings... yeah," a mouse clicks. "You might even nod off before it's finished the extraction."

With how excited the thing seems to be about running you dry? You can believe it. It's licking and sucking you like a limited edition lollipop, by now. But that's not all - as you moan and gasp in exhaustion from the pipes gulping you down, something warm glides down your belly and between your legs.

"So your chart indicates that you're cool wiiiiith... some penetration - with vibration only - extended oral, giving and receiving. If that's still on the menu, please give me some enthusiastic verbal consent! Yaaay!"

You manage a breathy yes. The doctor nods and swivels in their chair, and after a few mouse clicks, the apparatus sliding down lower settles right where you like it. 

As you feel that electric tingle start up, the loose band around your neck tightens - not enough to make you fear for your life, but enough that you can feel it rubbing against your throbbing pulse. It starts shifting, massaging in a way that's reasonably pleasant... the more it touches you, the warmer it gets, and the more you start to feel some tiny spherical beads inside the black polymer pushing against your skin.

Like a lover's tongue, it continues prodding and pressing into the more sensitive areas of your neck. The warm, rounded heat pulsates and changes course, pecking in motions both circular and sporadic. Between the erratic rhythm of this and the hungry, steady pace of your nipples being sucked red and sore, you can barely even perceive your surroundings. Just the pleasure.

Your jaw hangs slack, mouth open wide. Nice and convenient for the chrome apparatus snaking up from a small opening in the surface of the machine. It slips in easily, writhing against your tongue. It's not unpleasant; having something to occupy your lips is nice. But the motion seems... instructive? You feel as though it's asking for something, but aren't sure what.

A half-answer to your question comes in the form of another mechanical tentacle - the one that's drifting down lower, per your doctor's programming. It starts slowly stroking up and down, vibrating at a low, dulled mumble. Your eyes roll back as you attempt to push your hips into its motions, all to no avail. The lid of the machine has your back and your hips held firmly in place. The teasing is unbearable! It's nowhere near enough! What gives?

On cue, the oral responder starts wriggling faster, more urgently. You're not sure what to make of it, but what if- oh. Maybe if you give it a little lick, or something? Just a-

The moment the base of your tongue slides up against the responder, the vibration kicks up a few hard notches. You gasp sharply through your nose, ready to fully give in and let this thing rub you out.

It stops, reverting to the quiet hum of its lower setting. Of course. 

Closing your eyes tight, you adjust your lips and give the rounded tip of the responder an experimental suck. The vibration cranks up and whines back to silence. This is a game of give and take. Here you lay, posturing at nobody and nothing by revving the engine of a fuck machine. It's time to channel your inner motorcycle-owning, leather-clad, peace-disturbing douchebag and get this thing vrooming.

The more you suck, the harder the tentacle between your legs vibrates, the more vigorous its pace. Up and down, up and down it buzzes and whines louder, gliding carefree along your body. In your mouth the responder slides deeper, encouraging you to give it more, suck it like you really want it. A slit opens up along the nickel-flavored appendage and grips your tongue, tugging harder as you invite the device deeper in. You feel the lower tentacle do the same, kissing and playfully sucking between your legs. As you entertain the machine, it entertains you; as you reward the machine for all that it gives you, the machine will reward you in turn.

And reward you it does.

This time it's your moaning that breaches the metallic functions, the white noise of the pleasuring your machine provides. A third tentacle, vibrating gently at first, slides its lubed tip inside you. There's no rush; it prods in an inch at a time, easing back and forth, in and out before driving in deeper. The farther in it lubricates and penetrates you, the faster it vibrates. In minutes, you're completely at the mercy of its thrusts. 

"Ooh, uhm," the doctor clears their throat. "E-excuse me."

The door to the room clicks open and shut. Maybe they weren't supposed to monitor you in the same room? Oops. Or maybe-

Yeah. From the hall, you can hear their back hit the wooden paneling, their heavy breathing and shuddering. Guess they liked watching so much, they couldn't wait. Or maybe they liked you? You make a mental note to visit and test your theory sometime. Might be fun to make them squirm.

But right now, you don't have room in your head to think about that - to think about anything, really, outside of the machine that's gripping and pounding you. It keeps working you senseless, vibrating and stroking harder as it plunges fully inside, grinding at the point of white-hot, satisfying friction. You're nearly choking you as you suck the oral responder desperately to keep everything moving. It plays with your tongue in response, tugging at a rhythm faster than you're physically capable of sucking it in return. While those two tentacles work you on the inside, thrusting and thrusting, the third continues its relentless stroking below. None of the rhythms match one another, granting you no ability to focus on any individual pleasure.

Though the cuffs hold you fast in place, the rocking of your body back and forth as the machine fucks you deeper makes the gears work double-time - the restraints squeeze tighter, grasping their treasured plaything lest it slip away. Your chest is almost numb by now at the mercy of the constant suckling, but still you feel a ghost of shivering, electric pleasure as the machine's lips and throat keep draining, feeding, sucking, sucking, sucking, eagerly gulping down your milk. Looking down, you watch the pipes stretch and swallow everything they can force from your body.

From the rooms next door, the halls, the floor and ceiling, you can hear dozens of these machines clasped around their patients, coveting every moan and ragged breath they can squeeze out of them. When you close your eyes you can imagine the pipes milking them, the hungry chrome wringing them dry from top to bottom. Voices cry out in ecstasy, pistons thrust and thrust loud enough for you to hear, pleading echoes all around you in crooked rhythm. Everything here is designed to pleasure them, to pleasure you, to hold you in place and exhaust you of all your resources. They'll fuck you with glee and siphon away any form of energy that can be extracted from your gaping mouths, your suckable tongues and chests, your shaking, willing thighs, your pulsing holes. The machines will take it all, so long as they have a warm body to grasp and make theirs.

As your consciousness slips away, you know you'll be safe - your doctor will make sure of that, or they'll be fired big time. So you let the violent ripple of your first orgasm lull you closer to a heavy sleep, laying your head down. The oral responder pulls out from your tired mouth, though it still keeps itself attached to your tongue, tugging back and forth. The vibrating, rubbing metal tentacle continues distantly pleasuring you below, its partner still rubbing inside. The machine's mouths, too, are still sucking and swallowing you away. Steady gears keep turning and turning.

But it won't kill you. After all...

You can't use a battery if it's dead.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, i try to leave my reader stuff ambiguous re: gender, genitalia, etc. having milkies is gender neutral now too. we have the technology... but anyway, the point is that it can be enjoyed by as many people as possible without icky transphobic elements or snooze-inducing heteronormativity
> 
> why am i bothering to explain this. we're here for horny and horny alone. god. no thoughts, head empty
> 
> let me know if you liked this, because i will then create more and possibly take kink requests if i'm comfortable. you can include them in your comments if you'd like.
> 
> once again: happy quarantine, and stay safe.


End file.
